


The Soprano's Daughter

by arixias



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arixias/pseuds/arixias
Summary: After the unfortunate burning of the Opera Populaire, life seemed to drag on as normal. Decades later, however, Christine Daae's daughter came back to get the story for herself, and see if she could find out what happened with the opera ghost so many years ago. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine she would meet the man that loved her mother, and never did she ever know she would fall in love and start a family with him.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. The Meeting

It had been decades since the accident at the Opera Populaire. Your mother, the famed Christine Daae, used to tell you all the stories when your father wasn’t around. But now, being a reporter for a well-known newspaper in Paris, you were going into the opera house alone to face the facts and see for yourself what really happened all those years ago.

You pushed open the doors; the place had been abandoned many years ago and was no longer in use. The police knew you’d be coming and had granted you access through the back doors, which led directly to the stage. You stepped up to the stage, feeling a breeze sweep over you. Without thinking, you started to sing. It invigorated you, the feeling that swept over you, as you were standing on the stage your mother stood on all those years ago.

As you heard a voice start to join you, you stopped.

No one else was supposed to be here.

“Hello?” You called out, your tone laced with hesitation. Your hands trembled slightly as they desperately clung to your notebook. 

It took a while, but a voice met yours. 

“Good day, madame.”

You could tell it was a man, possibly middle-aged, and it was coming from Box 5. The infamous Box 5 your mother told you about.

Could this be him?

“I’m sorry to intrude on anything,” the voice continued. “Your voice was just so heavenly that I couldn’t help myself. I’ve only heard a voice like that one other time, and yours seemingly brought me back.”

The word escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Angel?” 

He paused. “Christine?”

“Her daughter,” you chimed. “(Y/N) de Chagny.”

“De Chagny. Of course,” he growled. “If you promise not to tell anyone, especially your parents, that you saw me,” he took a pause as he heavily sighed out. “I’ll show myself to you.”

“Deal.”

He walked out of the box, around the stairs and to the stage. You heard his voice behind you, but you dared not to move. 

“Now, begin singing again, just as you did before,” he called, his voice echoing around the stage.

You obeyed, your vocal chords sending your words soaring above the rafters. Closing your eyes, you let your muscles relax, your papers dropping to the floor of the stage as your arms went limp. That’s when you felt a hand take yours and you dared not pull away. You looked down and saw a black glove holding your hand, bringing it up past your face. He gently pressed your hand to his face, his skin rough to the touch against your smooth fingers. He joined in song, your duet soaring around the house. 

His hand touched your arm.

Then your stomach.

Then your chest.

You felt your heart pound as his hand cupped over your chest, taking a sharp breath through your mouth.

“(Y/N),” he called, his voice breathless in your ear. “Turn around. Slowly.”

As you turned, you were met with a very, very handsome man. He stepped back from you to let you get a good look. He stood tall over you, clad almost head to toe in a nice black suit. His undershirt was white, as well as the mask covering half his face. His dark hair was slicked back, a few grey streaks gliding along the left side. A gloved hand cupped your cheek as you examined him. From what your mother said, you knew you had one mission: to see what was under that mask.

“You’re very attractive,” you ushered, looking him from head to toe. Your response earned a chuckle from him. 

“Oh, one could only wish,” he laughed you off, looking to the house beyond you. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes, sighing softly as you closed yours.

You felt him step closer.

“I have much to show you, love,” he paused, looking to you. “Come.”


	2. His Lair

I led (Y/N) down the channels, just like I did for her mother, glancing back to her occasionally. She looked just like her mother in every way; no trace of that bastard Raoul’s genes in her, thank God. She seemed a little uneasy to be going beneath the Opera, but otherwise entranced. I squeezed her hand to reassure her, reaching the boat. 

“You see, (Y/N),” I started, touching her (H/C) hair, “Your mother took this same path to my lair. She looked just as you do now, so beautiful in this candlelight.”

“Thank you, sir. I would be lying if I didn’t say I’m nervous,” she replied, staring at me. Her mouth curved into a little smile, staring into my eyes curiously. 

My hands wrapped around her waist, holding her up before setting her in the boat. She clung to me just for that moment, staring at me. My nerves got the better of me, and I felt myself shaking as I put the lantern on the boat. I stood and started to row her down the canals. 

“So,” she began when she was able to form her words. “Could you tell me a little about what happened with my mom?” she asked. “Besides having to get stuff for my paper, I wanted to know for personal reasons. When I was growing up, she talked about you so much. No one else would listen to her, especially my father, but the stories intrigued me.”

As I grimaced, remembering her father, she spoke up again. “I was always curious as to who the man in the mask was.”

I sighed a little, turning my head to the side. “I loved your mother very, very much, (Y/N). Your mother was in love with Raoul, your father. Things turned sour, and I hurt him badly, trying so hard to keep your mother from going. But it didn’t work, and now…” I trailed off as I felt my throat tighten. “You are proof that I failed.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, looking down. 

“It’s not your fault,” I retorted, a little harsher than I would’ve liked. “I promise you.”

The rest of the ride went mainly silent, but I noticed she was picking her hands through her dress. I took a deep breath and examined the younger girl for a moment. In Christine’s absence, I tailored dresses designed to fit her, from sleepwear to the most beautiful of evening gowns. I could only wonder if (Y/N) was able to fit into them.

I helped her out of the boat to my little rock-carved home. Drawings and music were scattered everywhere, papers that I never had the heart to pick up. She seemed in awe as she looked from me, to the organ, to the mirrors shattered from that day. I hadn’t seen my face since then; it probably looked much worse.

I looked to her, walking back to the room with Christine’s look alike. I’d put the wedding dress back on it, keeping her image alive since then, still pristine and clear. I never wanted (Y/N) to see that. Grabbing one of the dresses, a nice navy blue gown, I walked back to her. She’d taken a liking to my organ, carefully pressing on the keys. Her eyes scanned my music, and something very strange started to happen.

She began to play my piece.

It was slow at first; mistakes were often as she sat down, but as she became more comfortable with my keys she played it flawlessly. 

I was left dumbfounded, my mouth agape as I walked to her. She took a deep breath, coming to a stop as she looked at me. The amusement in her eyes was taunting.

“Here,” I breathed out finally, carefully handing her the dress. The candlelight lit up her (E/C) eyes as she stared at me, taking the dress and standing. I carefully put an arm around her, leading her past the spare room where the dresses were stored. I walked her to my bedroom, pulling back the curtain to allow her access. She gave me a smile, and I pulled the curtain over, clutching my chest. Before she could hear me weep, I walked back down to the organ.

For the first time in so many long years, I’d started to love again.


End file.
